His Dark Hell
by moviebuffgirl
Summary: Set in an alternate universe, this story is about Erik Dragonet, the sadistic King of Persia, and his love for Christine de Chagny, the abused wife of Raoul de Chagny. ON HOLD.
1. Blood is the Life

**Summary:**

Erik, the sadistic and dark Prince of Persia, has vowed never to give his heart to another woman. However, this changes when he meets the abused Viscountess de Chagny, a woman who stirs and brings his deepest desires to the surface in full force. Can he rescue her from her husband, a man as evil and sadistic as he?

When it comes to her heart, all's fair in love and slaughter.

**Main Characters:**

**_ The Dragonet Clan_**

** Erik Dragonet** - the Crown Prince of Persia. He is the oldest of five children, and is infamous for his taste for war and blood. Is 25 years old by the start of the third chapter. Portrayed by Gerard Butler.

** Ivan Dragonet** - second-in-line to the throne. He is Erik's second-in-command, and is described as a brooding figure with an intense gaze. He is married to Katalina, a Persian prostitute who he fell in love with. Portrayed by Joaquin Phoenix.

**Armand Dragonet** - the oldest of twins. Has a huge appetite for sex and whores. Portrayed by Ben Barnes.

** Viktor Dragonet** - the younger twin brother of Armand. Shares his twin's nearly unsatiable desire for sex and whores. Portrayed by Ben Whishaw.

** Tatyana Dragonet** - the youngest and only girl of the Dragonet siblings. Was married to the King of Transylvania, but was brutally raped and murdered by Transylvanian rebels. Shared a close bond with her oldest brother, Erik. Portrayed by Tamzin Merchant.

_** The de Chagny Clan**_

**Christine de Chagny, Viscountess of Normandy** - the abused trophy wife of the viscount. She is constantly humiliated by her brothers- and sister-in-law for being unable to provide her husband with an heir. Portrayed by Emmy Rossum.

**Raoul de Chagny, Viscount of Normandy** - Christine's abusive husband. Goes off to fight the British, leaving his wife at the mercy of his brothers and sisters. Portrayed by Patrick Wilson.

** Benedict de Chagny**, **Genevieve de Chagny-Antoine**, **Pomeroy de Chagny**, **Guillaume de Chagny**, and **Troilus de Chagny** - Raoul's younger siblings. All of them despise Christine and never pass up a chance to humiliate their unfortunate sister-in-law. Portrayed by Domnhall Gleeson, Melanie Laurent, Gaspard Ulliel, and Kenneth Asa Butterfield, respectively.

**Minor Characters:**

**Aryasb Dragonet** - former King of Persia and the father of Erik, Ivan, Armand, Viktor, and Tatyana. Married the older sister of the Tzar of Russia. Portrayed by Arnold Vosloo.

** Czarina Dragonet** - former Queen of Persia and the mother of Erik, Ivan, Armand, Viktor, and Tatyana. She is the wife of Aryasb Dragonet; her husband allowed her to give their children Russian names in honour of her heritage. Portrayed by Inna Korobkina.

** Madame Giry** - the Dragonets' housekeeper during their stay in Paris. Portrayed by Miranda Richardson.

**Meg Giry** - Madame Giry's daughter. Develops a crush on Erik. Portrayed by Jennifer Ellison.

**Carlotta Guidecelli** - Genevieve's best friend and the most talented opera singer in Paris. Portrayed by Minnie Driver.

**Monsieurs Firmin and Andre** - owners of the Opera Populaire. They try to gain the patronage of the Dragonet family. Portrayed by Ciaran Hinds and Simon Callow.

* * *

**1 – Blood is the Life**

**Erik's Memoir**

_Today was spent in the battlefield. It was completely exhilarating; I cannot think of anything else that makes me feel complete and content. The very gush of my foe's lifeblood on my face brings a dark song to my lips, and I relish every body that falls before my feet. The war with the Arabs can be quite taxing, and yet I welcome it. This gives me a sense of purpose, of __need__, and I desire nothing more than to extend the war for many years to come. Of course my advisors are against those thoughts of mine, for they believe that the war will put a strain on the people. They remind me of Father at times. So do my brothers, for that matter. Tatyana thinks I am taking this skirmish far too seriously, as she always does. But she always lets me do what I will – I am the next King, and I can do as I wish. _

_Today the newest weapons have arrived from our contacts in France. These... guns, as they call them, are glorious. They bring a swift death to any they set their eyes on, and I believe I can use that to my utmost advantage. Thank Viktor for being the busybody that he is. Once I get used to wrapping my hands on any of these guns, I am sure it will become a part of me as my trusted scimitar is. Of course nothing can replace my beloved Punjab lasso, but that is reserved for special occasions. _

_I can hear Tatyana and Armand shouting at each other. Perhaps I may continue my memoirs later._

_**Erik**_

I closed the leather-bound book with a snap and strode out of my bedroom. The ruckus my brother and sister was making echoed all over the castle, and I was not surprised to see Ivan making his way to the open veranda.

"What is happening, brother?" I asked him as he fell into step beside me. "Has Armand stolen another of her trinkets to make her scream so?"

Ivan shrugged, the wind ruffling his black curls slightly. "I have no idea. Armand is getting too out-of-control lately. Tatyana, on the other hand... I had no idea she knew so many curse words."

I smiled. "Tatyana has learned from the best, that I can assure you."

"From you?"

"I did not say anything."

Ivan eyed me critically before walking to our brother and sister and pulling them apart. Tatyana's face was pink, while Armand seemed to be imitating a ripe tomato.

"What is the matter?"Ivan asked, his eyes slowly sliding from Tatyana to Armand, finally gazing at the latter. He was staring at them rather vindictively, and I half-expected them to cower and begin muttering gibberish.

Many a soldier – and other visiting emissaries, at that – had become reduced to blathering idiots upon receiving such a stare from Ivan. He was the brooding one, who tended to hold his tongue and let his older brother give the orders. When he was given free reign, however, he was unpredictable. I never had a finer second-in-command than Ivan, and I knew he would always have my back – on or off the battlefield.

Tatyana raised her chin and pointed at Armand dramatically. "I asked that... that _thing_ to give me back my stallion!"

"And I did!" Armand retorted immediately, and Ivan placed a restraining hand on Armand. "Your stupid stallion is in the stables; check it if you don't believe me!"

"I did," Tatyana said, but we could all tell she was delivering a final blow. "But it was bone tired! I told you not to use Xerxes to visit your fucking whores!"

"Xerxes is just too old, Tatyana! All I did was to ride the fucking thing down to the fucking market and it became fucking tired too fucking easily!"

"You liar!"

"I never lie!"

"Enough!" I only raised my voice a little, but both Tatyana and Armand bent their heads down quickly like I had shouted at them. "Armand, I would be grateful if you would refrain from cursing at your sister. And-" – I raised my hand to silence Armand, for he seemed ready to shout a reply – "Tatyana, Xerxes is far too old. I need not remind you to replace the beast countless times."

Armand shot my sister a triumphant look. "I told you so."

Tatyana pouted. "Fine. You win this time, Armand," she conceded huffily.

"Of course, Armand will be all too happy to replace Xerxes," I concluded. Armand threw me a look of disbelief.

"Me? Why me?" he demanded. "It's _her_ horse!"

"Which you rode to the brink of exhaustion. I do not care whether you rode it to visit the whores of Babylon or the nude women of Nebuchadnezzar. That does not erase the fact that you, in a sense, rode a stallion to its grave." I glanced at Armand and raised my eyebrow. "There will be no problems, I trust."

I allowed Armand to grumble for a few moments before he nodded. "Fine."

"Excellent. There are no more ill feelings between the two of you, then?" I never liked to see my brothers and sister mad at each other for long, so I was satisfied to see Tatyana and Armand shake hands. Armand quickly hurried off to the gardens below to join his twin brother, Viktor, while Ivan made his way back to his room.

Tatyana lingered on the veranda for a moment before joining me. "Erik, how long is this war going to last?"

_From stallions to war_, I thought with amusement. _Her train of thought astounds me_.

"As long as it takes, sister." I knew what was coming: she would do her best to dissuade me from going out into the centre of the fray, out of fear that her favourite brother would never come home. Oh she worried for Ivan of course, but she seemed to put my safety above his.

"Must you join your men in battle? You have been in every war our country has had since you were fourteen, Erik. Please, let your generals do your job for you. You are our king. Our saviour. And my brother." Tatyana's eyes were wide with fear; she knew that tomorrow and the next days may very well signal our victory or defeat.

I, of course, would not accept defeat. Tatyana knew this, and she worried that I would do something brash in the hopes of turning the tide in favour of the Persians. Her brilliantly blue eyes – a trait most of us inherited from our Russian mother, Czarina – looked up at mine, silently pleading.

"You know I cannot leave our army, Tatyana," I said as gently as I could. "And what of Ivan? He is your brother too, in case you've forgotten."

"No, I haven't," Tatyana replied, casting her eyes downward. "But Erik, can't you stay within the safety of our walls? Just this once?"

"I need the battlefield, Tatyana. You know I was born to be a warrior. To defend our country, our family, and you." I prayed that my sister would finally relent and let the subject matter drop. We had been through this countless times, and we always came to the same conclusion.

That didn't mean that Tatyana didn't stop trying, however.

Tatyana sighed and then nodded. "Promise me that you and Ivan will come back."

I drew my sister close and pressed a kiss on her head. "I promise."

Tatyana pulled away from me, and I noted that her favourite fragrance – essence of lavender – had stuck to my shirt. Although it was nice to be reminded of my younger and only sister, I could not go to war smelling like a young girl. I made a mental note to change my shirt before meeting the generals.

"Erik, will you paint with me?" Tatyana asked, sitting on one of the plush couches near the balcony. "I've been wanting to paint all day, but you were busy."

I thought of the painting I had set aside a few days ago to attend to important battle plans. I knew very well that Ivan could attend to the matter himself, but I didn't like the idea of being excluded for a strategy session.

"Tatyana, you know I would like nothing better than to paint with you," I began, hating myself for what I was about to say next.

The next interruption was a blessing: it served as the perfect excuse for me to leave Tatyana without hurting my feelings.

"My Lord! The enemy is advancing!" A soldier was hurrying down the hallway, his eyes wide with fear. I frowned, my hand immediately grasping the handle of my scimitar. Tatyana jumped to her feet, her hand clamping over my wrist tightly.

"Tatyana, no," I told her, and she withdrew her hand hesitantly.

Three more sets of footsteps approached, and my three brothers arrived. Ivan was in the process of strapping his quiver of arrows on his back, while Viktor walked over and pulled Tatyana to his side.

"How far are they?" I asked the soldier.

The sudden boom of cannons answered my question, and I knew they were far too close. Muttering a curse, I nodded to Ivan, who followed me as we hurried to the courtyard. I knew Viktor and Armand would take care of Tatyana, and from then on I focused all of my attention on the war.

Ivan and I stood side by side on the topmost platform, my shouts directing the archers and soldiers. Those on the leftmost side controlled the cannons, and they returned the fire from the enemy. Every so often an enemy cannonball would shoot in our direction, smashing against the brick walls and raining rubble on the soldiers.

The shouts of my men and the enemy rebels rose into a steady cacophony, and there were times when Ivan was forced to let fly a well-aimed arrow into the forehead of an approaching enemy.

I, on the other hand, joined the soldiers and rushed out onto the battlefield, my scimitar unsheathed. I cut down the rebels easily, and at times relished in the feel of their blood gushing from opened arteries and it splattering against my skin in thick red arcs.

This was heaven. This was where I was meant to be: in the thick of the battle, fighting to secure my home. To secure the safety of my people... my family... and Tatyana.

* * *

"The enemy has retreated, but they will return. Their move tonight showed us that they cared not whether they lived or died," Ivan stressed. His face showed no sign of fatigue, and yet I could tell he longed to climb into bed and sleep – preferably with a long-haired buxom woman.

I was sitting on the other side of the room, wiping my scimitar clean. We had declared a victory nearly ten minutes ago, and adrenaline was still pumping through our veins. The rest of the generals nodded as Ivan outlined our next battle plan, a battle plan that I had devised that very morning.

"Why don't we strike them down in their homes, my Prince?" one general asked.

"Because we will no longer be in our territory. They would know the terrain well, and that would work against us," I replied, sheathing my scimitar. Ivan nodded in agreement.

"Our walls are strong enough to withstand any force. Have the workers repair any damage before they return," Ivan instructed. "And rest well, men. You will need your strength."

"Dismissed," I said lazily, and the generals thumped their fists against their chest before leaving the room.

Once the door was closed, Ivan rounded on me. "How long?"

"Apparently you and Tatyana came from the same seed," I commented. "She asked me the same thing."

"How long?" Ivan stressed.

"Why, Ivan? Before you didn't care how long a war lasted. Why the sudden change?" I glanced at my brother for a split second, waiting to hear the answer I suspected I already knew.

"Katalina is with child," Ivan replied. "I have decided to marry her."

I raised an eyebrow. "I thought you planned on marrying someone of... higher birth."

Ivan's cheeks reddened. Although the Dragonets married whoever they wished, bloodline be damned, I knew Ivan had decided to marry someone of royal blood. This was a surprise.

"Katalina is different. Whenever I'm with her, I –"

"Make love to her, I know." I waved my hand dismissively. "Do whatever you want, Ivan, but make sure that it does not interrupt the war. Our victory against the rebels is crucial."

Ivan hesitated. "And the fact that I'm marrying a whore does not displease you?"

"Why would it? I care not who you marry, Ivan, as long as she makes you happy. And as long as she doesn't get in the way of the war," I said, rolling the maps and tying them with a ribbon.

"The war. That's all it's ever been about," Ivan stated softly. I raised my head to look at him, but he was already gone.

I shook my head and handed the maps to the guard standing outside. My brothers never understood my need for war. It flowed through my veins, and the very sound of a battle drum pounding in the distance could send me into a pleasurable fury.

Ivan, Viktor, and Armand only saw war as a way to keep the peace. I saw it as a way of life. Tatyana viewed it as a disgusting and barbaric activity.

They never saw it the way I did, and I never pressured them to do so. Aside from war, torture was my forte. I could worm out the deepest, darkest secrets of a person after an hour inside my torture chamber. There are hundreds of torture devices stocked there: an iron maiden, a stretching rack, sinister looking hooks, sharp scalpels, and a tank of ice cold water.

It was the only place Tatyana was not allowed in; Ivan and I had both agreed that she should not see the methods we used in order to extract information from a person. She was too good to be subjected to such things.

I was a few steps away from my room when I heard the soft rustling of a skirt. I turned just in time to see Tatyana envelope me in a crushing hug.

"Erik," was all she said. I buried my face in her hair, taking in the sweet scent of her.

"Tatyana, what are you doing up this late?" I asked gently, the persona of a bloodthirsty warrior slowly ebbing away as I stared down at her.

Tatyana said nothing, her eyes simply studying every inch of me. She held me close again, and inwardly I wondered if I still smelled of blood and cannon fire. If I did, she didn't mind in the slightest. We were interrupted by Viktor and Armand, who both had a scantily clad whore on their arm.

"Come on, brother," Armand called, pushing a third whore towards me. "The war is nearly over. Let this little minx warm your bed tonight."

The whore grinned at me, but I shot her an icy stare. Tatyana shifted slightly, as if she didn't know what to do. Viktor and Armand looked at our sister in surprise, then at my slowly growing anger.

"We... didn't know..." Viktor stammered. "Sorry Tatyana."

I felt Tatyana grip my shirt gently, as if she could sense that I was about to explode in rage any moment. I eased my shoulders slightly, and shook my head.

"No thank you, Armand. I have not the strength for it tonight."

"Come, my Lord," the whore coaxed, batting her eyelashes. "You don't have to do a thing. I'll make sure you'll be in Paradise. My tongue can trace your sword and make you close to bursting in no time."

Behind her Viktor and Armand exchanged alarmed looks.

Tatyana stiffened.

"Get out, whore," I spat. "Get out, and do not dare darken my doorway again!"

The whore cowered, as she realized too late that she had offended me. Armand snatched her arm roughly and dragged her away; Viktor paused to offer his apologies and ask if Tatyana needed to be escorted to her room.

"No. She will stay with me tonight," I told him.

I knew the various connotations that simple statement held, but if any of them occurred to Viktor, he didn't show it. He simply nodded and hurried after his twin.

I took Tatyana's hand and led her into my room. Thankfully it wasn't as messy as it was this morning: my desk was still littered with quills and parchment, but the rest of the room looked regal. And hospitable.

Tatyana immediately lay down on my bed, and after placing my scimitar on the table beside my bed, I joined her.

Ever since she was small, Tatyana slept with me. It was nothing sexual – she claimed my presence was soothing and therapeutic. I found it cumbersome at first, but I grew accustomed to her small form beside mine. At times she ended up punching me with her fist – once she kicked me off the bed – but most of the time she curled up in a fetal position and slept soundly.

She could have slept with Ivan, Viktor, or Armand, but I suspect that the frequent presence of whores in their beds kept her away. I never had the taste for whores or sex – although I was far from impotent – and that may have been the main reason why Tatyana preferred my bed over her other brothers.

As soon as my head hit the pillow she snuggled close to me, and as the minutes ticked by her breathing became even. I, on the other hand, remained awake for hours, forming countless battle strategies to be used over the next few weeks.

* * *

**Erik's Memoir**

_The battle... nay, the __war__ is over. We won. Viktor and Armand led a massive attack to the rebels' village and slaughtered their remaining forces, while taking their women and children as slaves. The army that had marched towards the capitol was defeated after a Persian messenger brought their leader the heads of his wife and young son._

_Distracted and blinded by his fury, the rebel general committed many errors that cost him and his men their lives. It was satisfying to deliver a message to all and any who would dare defy the Dragonet rule: any enemy would be shown no mercy or chance of reprieve. _

_I know many talk behind my back of my ruthless methods. They serve a higher purpose: being feared is far more effective than being adored. Countless emissaries have been sent to offer gifts and promises of fealty and loyalty to the House of Dragonet._

_Armand is delighted with the sudden outpouring of gifts, but I know that these wouldn't have come had we been defeated. One particular offering stood out: that of a proposal of marriage between the king of Transylvania, Valerian, and my sister, Tatyana. _

_Ivan says that Valerian is a trustworthy man, and Ivan is not one to easily deem a person trustworthy. Still, the very idea of marrying Tatyana to a Transylvanian brings a certain chill to my body. Every time the subject is brought up I feel the sudden urge to punch somebody. Tatyana is far too young to be a wife, let alone carry a child in her womb._

_Viktor says I'm too overprotective of her, and perhaps it is true. Tatyana does not seem too eager to rush into the marriage; nevertheless, Valerian is on his way to visit us. _Her_, most likely. The entire palace is bustling with activity. I know if Valerian is pleased with Tatyana – and he __should__ be, if he doesn't want me to rip his filthy European heart from his body and nail it to my bedroom door – then our family would be allied with the most powerful king along the Carpathian. _

_That prospect does not thrill me... if it means to push Tatyana into an unhappy union. Only her opinion matters at this point._

_**Erik**_

"My lord?"

A servant boy, no younger than fifteen, poked his head inside my room hesitantly. I spared him a seconds' glance before concluding my memoir entry for the day.

"Well? What is it?" I said testily, signing my name at the bottom of the page with a flourish. The boy hadn't spoken for nearly a minute, and I was in a really foul mood.

"The... Transylvanians have arrived, my lord," the boy finished, his voice trembling.

"Very well. Tell them I'll be right down."

"Yes my lord," the boy squeaked, obviously relieved that I didn't throw a knife at him. Perhaps I should have, if only to lessen the tense feeling I had.

I stood up from my desk and put on my black cape, which was long enough to trail after me as I walked out of the room. I knew that Tatyana was still in her room; I had, after all, instructed her to wait for me before going down to greet our guests.

I knocked smartly on her door. A few seconds passed before it creaked open, and was then flung all the way open. One of her handmaidens stood there bowing, and she stepped aside as I entered.

"Tatyana," was all I managed to say. The rest of my sentence was cut short when I saw her standing by her boudoir, wearing a deep blue dress of the finest silk, with golden cuffs and a full skirt. She was wearing the Dragonet crest on a fine filigree chain, and the pendant rested snugly between her breasts. Instead of wearing her hair up, she had opted to leave her hair cascading down her shoulders in soft amber waves. A small tiara, which belonged to our mother, was placed on her head, signalling her royal birth.

"Erik," she said, smiling at me nervously. "Is this alright?"

I nodded wordlessly and she watched me curiously. "It's... you look beautiful, dearest sister."

She giggled, and her skirt rustled as she walked up to me and placed her hand on my arm. "Shall we?"

I snapped out of my reverie and smiled back at her. "Of course."

The two of us swept out of her room, followed by two of her handmaidens. We walked in silence. I knew she was worrying over seeing her supposed fiancé, and I did not want to worry her further.

Finally she turned to me and asked: "How is he? I mean... have you seen him?"

I shook my head. "They just arrived a few minutes ago. I did not have the chance. Maybe Ivan or Viktor has – I know they've decided to wait by the main entrance."

Tatyana exhaled deeply and nodded. "I'm just nervous." She laughed shakily.

"I'll be with you every step of the way," I promised. "So will your other brothers. We won't let anything happen to you."

"I heard Ivan say you didn't like Valerian. How so?"

_Damn that Ivan_, I thought.

"Erik?"

I paused. "It's not that I don't like him," I said, thinking quickly. "It's just... you're still too young to be a wife."

Tatyana laughed softly. "Mother was my age when she married Father."

"That was different," I insisted. "Mother didn't have an older brother who worried constantly over her welfare."

"But she did have a younger brother," Tatyana pointed out.

"A younger brother who trusted the man she was going to marry," I argued.

"Why don't _you_ trust Valerian?"

Instead of replying, I grunted. I didn't know what to say to her anymore. Tatyana had this uncanny talent of cornering me during an argument in only a few minutes. I usually found it amusing, but now I was surprised to find that it irritated me no end.

Just before we entered the banquet hall we were joined by Armand and his escort, one of the most expensive whores in the city. Like the rest of her kind, she was wearing only cleverly placed strips of cloth that covered her breasts and vagina. The rest of her body was on display and left little to the imagination.

Most men drooled and tripped over themselves whenever they saw a woman like that. I, on the other hand, found it repulsive. I glanced at Tatyana, who seemed too nervous to notice the fleshy display of the woman standing next to her brother.

I squeezed her hand gently to reassure her, and she looked at me and smiled.

"Have you seen this Valerian fellow, Erik?" Armand asked, looking at me from over the whore's head. "I hope he doesn't look like an oversized bat."

"He can look whatever he likes. It's his treatment of our sister I'm worried about," I replied waspishly.

"Same old Erik," Armand said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes and entered the hall, Tatyana by my side. The Transylvanian knights were sitting in the long table to my left, while their superiors were sitting at the head table. Ivan and his fiancée, Katalina, along with Viktor and his escort, the Lady Tamara, were on the right side. The table on the right side of the hall was occupied by Persian nobles.

Upon seeing us, the knights promptly stood up and bowed, followed by the Persians and the Transylvanian nobles. Tatyana clearly held every man's attention, and I tried not to let it bother me. Her neckline now seemed too low, her dress too transparent, and the state of her hair seemed to suggest that she had rolled out of bed after hours of love-making.

After what seemed like hours, Tatyana, Viktor, and the whore took their seats. I remained standing, waiting for Valerian to make himself known.

I was surprised to see a young and rather handsome – by my sister's standards – man stand up and offer his hand.

"Your Majesty. I am King Valerian of Transylvania. It is an honour to finally meet you," he said. His voice was thick and rich, and I knew he could be heard clearly throughout the hall.

I shook his hand vigorously; his grip was strong.

"The honour is mine," I said. "I understand you and your companions have come a long way, king. Please, sit down. Let the feast begin!"

I waited until Valerian had sat down – he was sitting beside Tatyana- before easing myself into my chair. The courses were brought out in quick succession, and the Transylvanians murmured their approval whenever a new dish appeared from the kitchens.

Conversation rose from every corner of the hall, and I noticed that Tatyana and Valerian had fallen easily into a deep conversation. I caught Ivan's eye and he nodded at the young king with approval. I nodded slowly.

As much as I hated to admit it, Valerian made a rather good first impression. I found myself liking the boy, and the way that he listened attentively to my sister showed that he was a man who would tend to his woman every moment of his life.

* * *

"What do you mean, Erik? I am old enough!"

Tatyana was enraged. It was a few days after Valerian had left for his country, but to my sister, it seemed like years. I had approved of their engagement, on the condition that they be married when Tatyana turned eighteen.

"You are only sixteen, Tatyana. Two years won't make much of a difference."

"It would make a difference to me!" Tatyana retorted. "Valerian and I love each other. I know I will be happy with him, Erik. Why must _my_ life be controlled by an overbearing older brother?"

"That is enough!" I pounded my fist on my desk, and Tatyana flinched. "Tatyana, you push too far. I am only looking out for your best in-"

"No you're not! You just don't know when to let go! You keep controlling us like we're your personal puppets! Well I am _not_ a ball of clay that you can mould the way you see fit, Erik. I make my own choices." Tatyana glared at me defiantly.

This was the first time she had gone against my wishes, and it took me a few seconds to recover. When I did, I was full of unchecked rage that I didn't realize what I was doing. It was only when Ivan and Armand had burst into my room and pulled my hands off of Tatyana's neck that I snapped out of it.

Tatyana lay on the floor coughing, and dark red marks covered her throat.

"Oh gods," I gasped in horror. "Tatyana, forgive me, I-"

"I hate you, Erik," she choked out. "I will never forgive you for this."

Nothing but hatred was in her eyes, and, for the first time in my life, I felt like curling up in a ball and crying. I would have flung myself at her feet and begged for her forgiveness, but I knew Ivan and Armand would have thought that I was trying to attack her and pull me back. So I remained still.

Tatyana rose to her feet shakily. I heard Ivan ask Armand if he could handle me on his own. Apparently Armand said that he could, because Ivan walked over to Tatyana and helped her to her feet. Before they left, Ivan turned to me.

"What have you done, Erik?"

_Yes. What have I done?_ I thought.

After that incident, I sent a messenger to Valerian, stating that Tatyana would be arriving in a few weeks. I gave no reason why, but I indicated that if he should fail in taking care of her, war would come swiftly to his doorstep.

I spent the rest of the day in my room, refusing to eat or see anyone. By midnight, I heard the door to my room open.

"She says good-bye, Erik." Ivan approached me and sat down on the bed. I was hunched over the desk, sketching Tatyana's face furiously.

"Is she still furious?"

"What do you think? You did try and strangle her. What came over you, brother?"Ivan looked at me curiously. "We have never seen you that angry, not around us, at least."

"I don't know what came over me," I muttered, filling in a few minute details to my sketch. "All I know is that I will never forgive myself for that. Never."

Ivan sighed. "I know you feel that you're looking after her – us. But sometimes you cannot control another person's fate. Mother and Father were meant to die. Maybe it is Tatyana's destiny to live out the rest of her life in another country. Aren't you eager to see her children? Imagine what they would look like, with the Dragonet and Dracul blood flowing through their veins."

"Haven't you heard of the rebellion, Ivan? Many are against Valerian's rule. Haven't you given any thought to the possibility that, by sending our dear sister to him, we are sending her to her death?"

"How so?"

I turned my head and smiled at him darkly. "They will try and use her to get to Valerian. Are you willing to take that chance with our sister?"

"Is that why you don't want her to go?"

I nodded. "I'm her overbearing brother. I must act so."

"She knows you're only looking out for her. But she's dead-set on marrying Valerian, Erik. Are you going to stand in the way of her happiness?"

It took me a while to answer. Finally I nodded. Before Ivan left I told him about the letter I sent to Valerian. Ivan smiled.

"Then you didn't need my counsel after all. You made the decision yourself." he said, closing the door behind him.

Once I was alone I stood up and paced the entire length of the room. I wanted to visit Tatyana; this was, after all, her last night in Persia. But secretly, I was scared. What if she turned me away in anger? I didn't think I could bear the sight of her pretty face all contorted with rage.

_Not again_, I said silently.

* * *

**Erik's Memoir**

_It's all over. My entire world, my very existence, snuffed out in an instant. I have nothing left but this blinding rage, this unreasonable anger. I refuse to see to any course of action but one: WAR. It has isolated me from my brothers, and even from Ivan. I don't care. I don't care if I die the next day, the next week, or even next year. All I cared about was her._

_Tatyana._

_Even writing her name brings a swift pain to my heart, pain that can never be erased. The last few weeks have changed everything, and yet I must relive each painful moment for the sake of this memoir._

_Tatyana and I settled our differences the day after I tried to strangle her. She forgave me far too quickly, but I was immensely relieved that she did so. I helped her into the carriage that would spirit her away to her new home, not knowing that as I held her hand, I was holding her for the last time. My sister had said her goodbyes to our brothers, but she wanted to say goodbye to me before she left._

"_I will always love you, Erik. I am sorry for what I said to you yesterday, and all is forgiven. I will visit with Valerian as much as I can," she told me, and her eyes – the same ones that held hatred in them only a few hours ago – conveyed all her love for me. I could not help but believe her._

_I tried to say goodbye, but all I managed was "Safe journey, sister." She seemed to understand, for she gave me one last hug and climbed into the carriage._

_It took her two and a half weeks to travel to her would-be husband. She was crowned queen the day after her arrival, and was kidnapped by the very rebels I had discussed with Ivan two days after her coronation. On the third day of her capture, she was dead. News of her death reached us yesterday, including the gruesome details of her capture, imprisonment, and death._

_The things the rebels did to my sister are so heinous that I am appalled to learn that Valerian has done nothing. Nothing._

_I have thus waged war against entire Transylvania, against its irresponsible king, and most especially, against the rebels who have dared defile my lovely sister._

_Ivan, Viktor, and Armand think I have gone mad. I am perfectly sane. I know what I must do: avenge the death of my sister and punish the perpetrators who dared snatch away a life as vibrant, as beautiful, and as pure as my sister's._

_I vow on the graves of my mother and father that I shall not rest until Tatyana Dragonet has achieved the justice she so rightfully deserves._

_**Erik**_


	2. A Failed Escape

**2 – A Failed Escape**

Midnight.

It was the perfect time for me to make my escape, and I silently crept down the carpeted hallway, praying that I wouldn't bump into anything – or anyone. As far as I knew, all the servants were snuggled deep in their beds, their thick blankets protecting them from the chill that enveloped all of Paris.

My breath created a puff of fog in the air in front of me, giving the impression that I was a fire-breathing dragon. If only I were, then I would have been rid of this accursed place years ago.

I am Christine, the sixteen-year old trophy wife of the Viscount de Chagny. But I wasn't always this wealthy... this unhappy. I was born in a small village a few miles from Paris, to a loving violin player, Gustav Daae, and his kind and gentle wife, Carolina. Back then I was known as Christine Daae, the only daughter of these kindly people.

Now I am addressed as the Viscountess Christine de Chagny, wife of the famed war hero, Viscount Raoul de Chagny.

I admit that I was very taken in with my husband's angelic looks and charm. He seemed the perfect gentleman, one who seemed to know the deepest desires of a young girl such as I. It was too late when I realized that it was all an act: the real Viscount is a brute whose idea of amusement is to throw his wife onto his bed and thrust himself deep into her... while brandishing a whip and threatening to hit her if she protested or made a sound.

This abuse began the first night of our marriage, and has continued ever since. One would have thought that my husband and I would have been up to our necks in children: chubby babies with the same angelic looks as their father, or the same soft tresses as their mother's.

But no.

After two years of marriage, Raoul and I have remained childless. Many of my husband's high-society friends believe that I am barren, but Raoul refuses to believe so.

"She just needs to be firmly planted with my seed. Then our child will grow," I heard my husband once tell his younger brother, Benedict.

Perhaps that's why he insists on taking me as roughly as he does, so that the hateful seed that he spurts deep into me will take the form of the son he has so longed for.

Of course one would also think that there is a possibility, however slim, that the problem of fertility lay in my husband, not me. But my husband is from one of the oldest noble families in Paris, a family that has spawned no less than five children every generation. Fertility certainly isn't a problem with the de Chagnys.

Raoul is the oldest of six children, the others being Benedict, Genevieve, Pomeroy, Guillaume, and Troilus. All of them are cold-hearted and uncaring as their oldest brother, and Genevieve, their only sister, takes pleasure in humiliating me during public gatherings.

Oh Raoul does try and dissuade his sister, but lately he seems to be more engrossed with the impending war with the British, leaving me at the mercy of his younger siblings.

I finally reached the end of the long hallway without making any noise, and I grasped the thick wooden handle of the window and tried to gently pry it upward.

There would be another party in a few weeks, and I knew it would be another chance for Genevieve to embarrass me by bringing her litter of children. Oh how she loved to remind me – and the rest of Paris – that I still hadn't given my husband any children.

"Well I won't be around to hear it," I whispered, successfully swinging the huge window open. I eased one leg out and pulled myself through. I didn't see the small metal spike jutting out from the side of the window, and as I pulled my lower body through, it created a long gash on my thigh.

I fought to keep myself from screaming in pain, but a shrill cry escaped my lips nevertheless. My eyes widened and I waited, poised outside the window. When I didn't hear the frantic cries of my husband, I decided that he was still fast asleep.

I dropped down on all fours, the thick foliage concealing me completely. Anyone looking out of the windows would have to look directly down for them to see me. I dared hope that this time... this time I would escape. I had no idea where to go, but I didn't care.

I just needed to get out of that hellish prison.

The dark entrance to the copse yawned in front of me, and I dared spare a glance behind me.

It was only then when I noticed the swinging fist that was aimed at my head. I only managed a squeak of surprise before blackness enveloped around me.

My last thought before I blacked out was: _They found me after all_.

* * *

"Sweet wife. How many times must we go through this?"

_Crack._

Another slice of pain ran through my back, and I winced. I dared not scream, for I knew that my screams only increased his sadistic pleasure.

"I – told- you – what – would – happen," he continued, accentuating every word with the crack of his whip. "You are too stubborn. After all these years, I thought you'd have learned your lesson."

"Apparently not," Pomeroy drawled from the chair where he was sitting. "Your wife is beautiful, true, but she has a skull thicker than these walls. You need to... drill it into her before she understands."

Raoul nodded. "Pity. I was hoping to take her before I leave for England."

"Take her now, then. You don't have to fuck her on your marriage bed, you know."

"True. Pomeroy, your vulgar insinuations sometimes amaze me."

I heard the soft clink of metal, and I knew my husband was unbuckling his belt. The soft frussshhh told me that his trousers had dropped to the floor, and that he was exposed.

Any minute now...

Raoul's knee wrenched my legs apart, and he wrapped his arms around my waist, hoisting me high enough for him to slide his manhood deep. Other times I would have screamed and struggled, but sheer exhaustion prevented me from doing so.

Loud grunts echoed throughout the cavernous room, as my husband's thrusts became faster, more urgent. Soon he spilled his seed deep into me, and I bit my lip to keep myself from vomiting.

"What is this?" The high, haughty voice of Genevieve echoed in the cavern, and I looked up. My sister-in-law was standing near the entrance, her beautiful face scrunched up in a grimace. She was staring at her older brother, who was now buckling his trousers. "Brother, fuck her here if you will, but please do so when I'm not around. The very sound of your... lovemaking drives me insane. It's disgusting, really."

"Do not tell me what to do, Genevieve. You are in my house, and I can do what I will with my wife." Raoul picked up the whip and savagely attacked my back again. I felt my blood trickling down my back, but I never uttered a sound, not even when the whippings became as urgent as his fucking.

Finally he released me from my bonds, and I fell to the floor. I heard Raoul discuss a few matters with his brother, while Genevieve observed me carefully, as if I were a mere specimen in the zoo.

"Tut tut, my brother's seed is staining the floor. With that much of a de Chagny in you, why on earth can you not give him a son?" Genevieve whispered. She nudged my side with her shoe, and let out a disgusted sound as it became stained with my blood. "Filthy whore."

Genevieve delivered one last, swift kick to my side and walked towards her brothers.

"Could you at least get her out of here? She fouls up the air," she said snootily before leaving.

I knew Raoul wouldn't follow his sister's orders; he never did. I expected him to take me a few more times before having our butler lead me to our room, but to my surprise he called in a few servants who - after steeling themselves for the task of dragging their mistress upstairs - lifted me to my feet. My entire body was sore, and all I wanted was to sink in a deep pile of blankets and sleep for a week.

But I always don't get what I want. As soon as the huge oak doors closed behind the servants, Raoul savaged my body again, his moans loud and rasp in my ear. I blocked out everything and held on to the hope that I would be rid of this hellish nightmare.

* * *

Morning could not have come any faster. It was a few hours after my attempted escape when I was yanked to my feet by my "loving" husband.

"Cover her bruises," he ordered the maids. "Make sure not one scratch is visible."

The maids nodded. Their expressions reminded me of frightened little mice, cowering under the feral gaze of a cat. I, on the

other hand, remained as passive as I could. As the maids helped me into my corset and dress, I did my best not to wince or make any sound of pain.

Not while he was there.

Raoul watched me like a hawk, smiling as he did so, as if my distress caused him much pleasure.

Once I was in a deep burgundy dress, he chuckled.

"You look lovely, madame," he said, offering his arm to me. I took it limply, and allowed him to lead me out of the room. While we walked, Raoul kept a firm grip on my arm, sending slight pricks of pain up and down my arm. How I wanted to wrench my arm away from his, to run away from my gilded cage.

No matter what other people said, I was not the lucky bride they thought I was. Oh yes, they always saw me in the latest fashions, the most costly furs and diamonds. They knew that the de Chagny estate, which loomed over all the mansions in the opulent neighborhood of Tresere, was filled to the brim with expensive items and boasted a small armada of servants.

What they didn't know that the man who owned all of it was a complete and utter brute.

When I was a child, all I wanted in life was to find a man who would love me for who I was, to keep me safe from anyone and anything. That changed when I married Raoul; now all I wanted was a man who was brave and strong enough to wrest me from the hateful clutches of my husband.

* * *

**_10 years before..._**

"Christine, get down from that tree!"

My mother, Carolina, was standing at the foot of the tree, her arms on her hips. Her lovely face carried a disapproving glare, but instead of going down from the branch I was sitting on, I simply smiled and climbed even higher.

"Oh just wait until your father arrives, Christine!" my mother called. She gave an exasperated sigh and walked

back into the house.

I giggled to myself and continued picking deep green leaves, which I planned to use as "cloth" for a leaf dress for my mother. Her birthday was only a few days away, and since I had no money to buy her a pretty scarf or a pair of dainty slippers, I decided to make her a dress out of leaves.

I looked at the small pile of leaves that I had clutched in my hands and decided that I had enough. I carefully placed these in the pocket of my patched dress and slowly made my way down. Just before I jumped from the last branch, a pair of hands grabbed me around the waist.

"Papa!" I exclaimed gleefully, throwing my arms around his neck as he kissed me on the cheek.

"What were you doing in the tree, ma cherie?" my father asked, smiling at me fondly.

Gustav was a tall and handsome man, although his hair already had a few streaks of gray. His violin case lay on the grass beside him.

"Don't tell Mama?"

My father nodded

conspiratorially.

"I am making her a leaf dress," I admitted softly. "For her birthday."

My father's eyes brightened. "Oh my sweet sweet child," he said, giving me a hug. "Of course I won't spoil the surprise! That is a wonderful idea!"

"Thank you Papa!" I cried, my small, chubby arms tightening around his neck as I hugged him back. "I promise I will make her the most beautiful dress she has ever seen!"

Papa chuckled as he set me down on the ground. "No matter what your dress looks like, ma cherie, I am sure she will love it."

I grinned widely at him and scurried to the side of the house. I kept the leaves that I collected in a little hole near the pile of firewood; I had covered it with the dirty old wheelbarrow so that my mother wouldn't see. Over the past few weeks I had gathered an array of leaves of different colors: some were in different shades of red, while others were in shades of green. Now I placed the new leaves that I had

gathered from the tree near my home and placed them with the others.

"Tomorrow I'll sew you all together," I told them. "Then Mother will have a new dress to wear when she goes to the market."

Before I covered the leaf pile, I placed my "needle" and "thread" in the hole as well. I would be using a sharp, thin stick for a needle, while fine strands straw would serve as my thread. I just hoped they would work as I imagined they would.

The rest of the day passed by quickly. As I ate supper with my mother and father, I listened to my father's funny stories of the people he had seen in the city while he played the violin for a troupe of actors. Father swore that he saw an old man with a beard that swept the ground as he walked, and of a woman who had a high, shrill voice similar to church bells.

My mother and I laughed at his descriptions, and our bowls of cabbage soup were soon empty. We wiped our bread slices on the remaining soup broth and finished our watery milk. Although we didn't eat as well as the rest of the villagers, I didn't mind.

I had my father and my mother, and I was happy. Shortly after supper my thoughts immediately returned to the leaf pile I had hidden outside, and I wondered if I could sneak a few leaves in my room so that I could start making the "dress".

I was about to sneak out the back door when I heard my father start to tune his violin.

"Christine, where are you going?" I heard my mother ask. I turned; my mother was standing near the kitchen cabinet, holding the dirty dishes. "It's dark outside. Go in the living room and accompany your father. You can play outside again tomorrow."

I turned hesitantly from the door and set myself on a stool near my father. He gave me a slight wink, as if he knew that I was about to bring my secret stash inside. I giggled softly and waited as father started playing a soft melody that seemed to curl itself around me, smothering me with warmth and love.

Mother eventually joined us, and I could see the magic of Father's music as the stress and tiredness in her face finally gave way to a look of pleasure. She visibly relaxed, and I lay my head against her knee.

"My little girl," she murmured, and I could tell she was on the brink of sleep. The very thought of my bed made me yawn, and Father chuckled.

"Time for bed, my loves," he said, setting his violin down. He kissed Mother's forehead as he took me into his arms and carried me to my bed. As my head hit the soft pillow, I gave a soft sigh.

"Sweet dreams, ma Cherie," Father whispered.

Even to this day, I can still feel the softness of the pillow beneath my head, the slight roughness of my father's chin as he kissed me good night, and the comforting feeling that I was safe and loved.


	3. Excuse My French

**Erik's Memoir**

_It has been five years. Five long years since my beloved Tatyana was cruelly snatched from me by those Transylvanian rebels. It was also during the long absence in my memoirs that I have waged war against Transylvania and its king, Valerian, whose head now rests comfortably on a spike outside my palace. I am no longer the crown prince of Persia, but its King. My first conquest is Transylvania, which I have added to my territories upon my triumph only a few days ago. These years have been long and there were times when I thought about my brothers, who have firmly stood by me and my cause, despite their misgivings. I am glad my brothers were able to find some solace these five years: Ivan married Katalina; she now carries his child. Viktor was torn between the Lady Tamara and her equally beautiful sister, the Lady Morgan, but finally settled on the latter. Armand also married a woman of noble birth, the Lady Esther. _

_I, on the other hand, have focused my energies in winning the war. Now that I have, I feel suddenly drained. It's as if I have only realized the length of Tatyana's absence in my life. The pain comes swift and often, that I have not ventured far from the privacy of my room, in fear of allowing the rest of the kingdom to know of my grief. They all believed that I have gotten over my sister's death; but will I? Tatyana was my heart and soul, and she took the very spark of humanity left in me. I fear that I shall never find a woman who can fill the empty void that my sister has left._

_**Erik**_

The cool night wind ruffled my hair and I closed my eyes. On nights such as this Tatyana and I would be lounging on the veranda, sipping cool mint tea and nibbling on the sweet cakes my sister liked. Now…

"You cheat! I can see an extra pair under your saggy bottom, Viktor!"

"I never cheat, Armand! Why don't you take out that rigged dice you have in your pocket?"

I sighed. Viktor and Armand were busy playing cards – or should I say, gambling – while their wives were sitting together, their sewing clutched tightly in their hands. Ivan and Katalina were in their room; Katalina was feeling a bit faint during dinner, and Ivan thought it prudent to let her lie down.

"If it is a boy, he will be the next King of Persia," I told Ivan when I learned of Katalina's pregnancy.

"After your sons, of course, brother," Ivan corrected me.

"If I have any sons," I murmured. Ivan remained silent, but I saw that he was deciding whether or not to speak up. My temper, which seemed to flare up faster since Tatyana's death, rose to the surface. "Well, Ivan? Do you not wish to say that perhaps I may be mistaken?"

Ivan shook his head. "I merely thought that Tatyana would not have wanted us – any of us – to be unhappy. You most of all."

Is that why you and our other brothers were in a hurry to marry? I thought viciously. Of course I knew that what I was thinking was wrong, and I bit my lip to keep from replying. Ivan eyed me warily, as if he sensed that I was about to explode in anger. After a few minutes' terse silence, Ivan had made his excuses and left.

"Erik, will you not join us?" Viktor called out, shattering my train of thought. "We need another player; Armand is far too predictable!"

Armand rolled his eyes at his twin and began dealing the cards. "Well brother? Shall we deal your hand?"

I shook my head. "I am not in the mood tonight. Perhaps some other time."

Viktor shrugged and motioned to Armand, who started dealing the cards. I turned back to the balcony and watched as the sentries were replaced and an old woman selling ripe oranges pushed her heavy cart with the help of her grandson near the palace. My eyes strayed to the moon. I could practically hear Tatyana breathe a soft sigh of delight, and for a moment the world was perfect.

* * *

"I cannot believe I let you talk me into this," I hissed.

Ivan gave me a wry smile and squeezed Katalina's hand. "We are not sending you to the chopping block, my Lord, merely to France."

"France was one of the fool's former allies," I reminded him.

"And now one of yours. Will you continue to grumble and gripe throughout the sea voyage, my Lord?" Ivan asked, his tone suggesting that he was fighting hard not to laugh.

I ignored him and began pacing the cabin. For some insane reason, I, my brothers, and their wives were on our way to France, under the pretense of a "state visit". Naturally the French King, Charles, was ecstatic, but I was indifferent. King Charles was a man who aided Valerian during the young king's early reign. In my eyes, the man was an enemy.

Ivan had spent more than two months trying to convince me to go on the visit – after all, there could be no state visit without the king – and finally I relented. Naturally Viktor and Armand came, thus turning the entire venture into a grand affair.

I did not like the idea of leaving Persia without a leader, but in the end I appointed the Grand Vizier as regent until we returned. Armand had hinted that he and Esther may remain in Paris, a move that I had expected the moment Esther became his wife.

Esther was, unlike Katalina and Morgan, a handful. Oh she was prim and proper at the opportune moment, but I have heard reports from her ladies that she could be particularly vicious. Esther never dared contradict me, of course, but I knew she wanted to escape my authority and live in relative luxury, far from the hot sands of Persia. France, with all its gaiety and colorful festivals, presented the perfect place for her and my poor, besotted brother to live.

After a few minutes of watching me pace, Ivan sighed. "Erik, you are doing nothing to calm your nerves. Please, sit."

I paused, contemplating as to whether I should remind my brother who he was talking to, but decided that he only meant well. I took a seat in front of the oak table and closed my eyes. Finally: "What is the agenda, Ivan? Do tell me before we are swept up in all the meaningless events that accompany a state visit such as this."

"Well, we will be staying at the Villa de la Luz, which is thankfully our first stop once we arrive," Ivan began, sounding as if he had been preparing for this moment. "We will then make an appearance at a masquerade ball, where the French nobles will be given the chance to meet us. From there, we will go to Marseilles, where King Charles will entertain us over dinner."

I nodded. "Sounds reasonable enough."

"There is one other thing, my Lord," Katalina added.

I raised my head and looked at her. "Yes?"

"You… that is, we, will need to… speak French."

It took me a few moments to absorb what my sister-in-law just said. And then…

"Absolutely not. Do we not have a firm grasp of the English language? Why must we learn another?"

"Because it is diplomatic," Ivan replied. "How else can we tell them that we mean not to continue the antagonism we've shown to one of their former allies than by embracing part of their culture?"

I frowned. The very idea of me speaking French brought a bad taste to my mouth. It was the language of a traitor. I caught Ivan's stare and bit back a biting reply.

"Very well," I sighed. "If only for a successful state visit."

Ivan glanced at his wife, who gave him a reassuring smile. I sighed and drummed my fingers on the table. This was going to be a long state visit.

* * *

"Oh Armand, look at these slippers! Aren't they simply divine?" Esther gushed. "They would go well with my new dress – you know, the one His Majesty gave to me just before we left?"

"Yes yes, I know dearest," Armand said impatiently. "Just pick one, won't you?"

Esther threw him a dazzling smile and turned back to the mound of shoes she was choosing from. Armand stole a quick glance in my direction and I returned it with a slight sneer.

Esther, Armand, Morgan, Viktor, and I were in Paris, buying a few things for the masquerade ball. I had chosen my suit for the evening – Armand, Viktor, and Ivan decided to use their military uniforms – but the women seemed determined to try the French fashion.

Katalina talked quietly with Ivan as they watched Esther try on a dark blue muff, while Morgan was slipping out of the gown she had chosen.

Out of all my sister-in-laws, Katalina was the one I preferred the most. Although Morgan was amiable enough, she tended to lounge around. I believe she thought that royalty did nothing all day. Esther was, for the lack of a better word, unbearable.

Finally Esther decided on a red and gold gown that accentuated her brilliant green eyes and ebony locks well, along with the pair of slippers she had been mooning over.

I thought I could finally lock myself inside my room in the Villa de la Luz. But when Ivan approached me and told me that Prince Henri wished to meet me before the party, I knew that my night of solitude would have to wait.

"We cannot ignore the prince, Erik," Ivan whispered to me as a richly garbed maître led us down a hallway. "It is not political."

"And is it not rude to demand an audience with me during this hour? I am a _king_!" I hissed back. "If Prince Henri wanted to see me so badly, _he_ should have come to _me_."

Ivan chuckled. "We are in his country, brother. We must bow to his wishes."

"I do not bow to any man," I snorted. Ivan was about to reply when the maître announced that we had reached the prince's room. Ivan shot me a meaningful look and led the way inside.

Prince Henri was no older than sixteen, with chocolate brown hair, a round face, and an even rounder body. He grinned widely as he saw me, and gave a hurried and awkward bow. Apparently Prince Henri was not used to bowing.

"Prince Henri," I said crisply, my tone making it clear that I was not pleased. If the prince had noticed he gave no show of it, but instead directed me and Ivan to three chairs placed in front of a table laden with pastries and goblets of red wine.

"Please sit, Your Majesty," Prince Henri said. "I am so pleased to have finally met you. My father and I are happy that you have decided to visit us."

"I'm sure he is."

"Well, I apologize for any inconvenience my sudden invitation must have caused you, but I would like to get to know you before the formal party." Prince Henri shifted in his seat, took a strawberry tart, and bit into it. I waited as he chewed and took the time to study the prince's room.

It was full of rich trappings and paintings, one of him and his mother, the late Queen. A fireplace covered a quarter of one wall, and a huge wardrobe on the other.

"There are several nobles in France who wish to speak ill of me and my father. I assure you, the tales they would tell you are all lies."

I nodded once, but secretly I wished he would get on with it.

Prince Henri took another hasty bite of the tart before continuing. "I am speaking, of course, of the actual involvement my father supposedly played in the unfortunate incident regarding your… well, regarding…"

"My sister's fate was not unfortunate, Prince Henri," I interrupted, my voice shaking. "It was savage and tragic. I understand your concern that I might actually listen to these tall tales of French noblemen about the part – or complete lack of it – King Charles played in it. I will also assure you that my opinion of your father will not change one bit."

Prince Henri looked relieved and wary. Ivan was also eyeing me, and I knew he was getting ready to restrain me in case I lost control.

I knew I had to get out of there – and fast. I was already annoyed to have been summoned by a young boy, and to hear him speak of my sister only pushed my patience even further. I stood up and gave a curt nod to the prince.

"You must forgive me, Prince Henri. I am tired and wish to retire to my villa. We can talk more at the party," I said.

"Of course, of course Your Majesty. Forgive my impertinence." Prince Henri stood as well, giving me another awkward bow.

Ivan and I walked towards the door, but just as I reached the doorframe, I stopped and turned back to the prince.

"You say your father had nothing to do with my sister's death," I said.

Prince Henri nodded.

"And yet he did nothing to punish those who were responsible – these so-called nobles," I added. "If he were so eager to form an alliance with me, he should have punished them to the utmost. Did he?"

Prince Henri's expression became rigid, and I smirked slightly and left.

I was walking so fast that Ivan only caught up to me when I was seated inside the carriage. "What on Earth, Erik? Why did you say that? You very well know that we should be courteous and polite-"

"If there is anyone who needs to be courteous and polite it is them," I interrupted, jerking my head in the direction of Prince Henri's house.

"Erik, be reasonable…"

"Reasonable? Reasonable? I have been reasonable ever since you coerced me to go on this state visit, brother! I went along with your plans, all for the sake of peace. I would have gladly gone along this charade, had that royal brat not insisted on reviewing my sister's case and describing it as an unfortunate accident!"

I was barely aware of how loud my voice was, although I did notice the few sentries standing outside look at us curiously.

"I know how you feel about Tatyana's death, Erik, but you have to move on. You should not pine after her like this. She would not want you to grieve for the rest of your life," Ivan said softly.

I admired my brother then. I could tell he was putting up with a lot of my furious outbursts with a calm demeanor, and I silently thanked him. If I were in his shoes I would have given up ages ago.

"Unfortunately brother, I already am," I informed him. "And there is nothing I can do about it."

"There is," Ivan insisted. "Find a woman to love. Not to replace Tatyana, mind you, but to fill the gaping hole in your life."

"Honestly Ivan, do you see any woman falling in love with me?" I asked him dryly, turning my head away from him.

I was a brutish and sadistic king who was still wrapped up with his younger sister's death. What kind of woman would want to even be associated with me?

* * *

**Ivan's Memoir**

_Today Erik's French lessons have begun. No matter what he says or thinks, he certainly has a talented ear for foreign languages. He has already breezed through most of Jean Luc's lessons with only minor corrections. If only he would relax once in a while and forget about Tatyana. We all loved her, and her death has been hard on all of us. But I cannot deny she and Erik shared a special bond, and one can only imagine what he is going through._

**Ivan **

"No no, Your Majesty, it is _honneur_, not _honnore_," Jean Luc Beauclerc corrected.

Erik heaved a sigh and repeated: "_C'est un honneur d'être ici_."

"Excellent, Your Majesty, truly excellent!" Jean Luc praised. "Soon you will be a true Frenchman, _oui_?"

Erik nodded briskly, and Jean Luc took a step back.

"Your brother is clearly not happy," Katalina whispered, her hand sliding down to her bulging belly. "Should we force him to do something that is against his will?"

"My brother is king," I replied softly. "He needs to learn that he cannot focus on only one thing in life. He has other responsibilities."

"Your brother is a good king, my love," Katalina said. "The people love him, despite his sadistic methods. He is a fervent patron of the arts, and a talented painter and composer himself. I think all he needs is someone to take away the pain of dear Tatyana's death."

I nodded. "I agree, my dear. But tell me this: what sort of woman – the one who truly deserves to be his – would agree to be married to him? He himself admitted that he is a barbarian. Even you cannot stand his bloodthirst at times."

"True. But a woman who truly loves a man will be able to put up with his dysfunctions, no matter what they are. It is all a matter of finding the right one." Katalina took my hand and squeezed it. "You saw me for more than what I was. You unmasked the woman behind the whore."

I flinched. I never wanted to hear my wife say the word "whore", as it was a painful reminder of what her early life was like. I count myself lucky to have found her before she could be further corrupted.

"That is true," I admitted hesitantly, squeezing her hand gently. "But I fear my brother is too fixated on our sister's death. I believe he will never willingly let her go. It would take an exceptional woman to make him feel that he needed to change, and that woman would have the task of seeing behind the bloodthirsty man my brother is in order to see that he is just a very lonely man."

Katalina nodded. "But everyone has their own soulmate, no matter how hard things seem. I believe, my love, that that woman is somewhere here in Paris. Why else would we be here? You told me that His Majesty would not have agreed to this visit in a million years. Yet here we are."

Again, I had to agree. I smiled lovingly at my wife and kissed her. "I just hope for Erik's sake that the woman you speak of is indeed here. Otherwise I fear he may fully slip into insanity.

* * *

**Erik's Memoir**

_The party was dreadfully dull. If it weren't for the presence of a mysterious Scheherazade, I would have made a quick escape. Her mask hid her identity well, and now I find myself wondering who my new acquaintance was. Despite my icy demeanor – one that she easily stripped away – she kept her wits about her and was able to strike up an intellectual conversation. I was truly sorry to have to leave (although I cannot blame Ivan for wishing his wife to be put to bed early; we all think the child will be born here, in Paris) and in my haste I forgot to ask her her name. Perhaps I have found a new challenge: to seek that young woman at the ball. I pray she is unmarried, but even if she is, that won't matter. I have killed kings with ease, surely I can deal with an ornery husband._

_**Erik**_


	4. That Uncouth Gentleman

**4 – That Uncouth Gentleman**

The ball was in full swing when I and my in-laws arrived. They were all eager to arrive at the party early, for they wanted to be the first to meet the King of Persia. Personally I didn't see what the fuss was all about; the man was probably another barbarian who feasted on the flesh of his enemies.

He and my husband would get along well. I just thank my lucky stars that Raoul left a month ago to aid the French in the war.

I tried to make my way quietly to one of the more private corners of the room, but Genevieve took hold of my arm and roughly steered me into a group composed of her closest friends, including her best friend Carlotta Guidecelli, Paris' most celebrated opera singer.

"Why Christine, darling," Carlotta crooned, sweeping her elegantly decorated mask of Aphrodite to the side and kissing me on each cheek. "You look lovelier every day."

Genevieve smirked. "All those years of being without a child has certainly brought this glow to her face."

I tried my best not to cringe, and instead laughed along with the rest of the group. If there was one thing Genevieve loved most in the world, it was to humiliate me with my obvious lack of children. Raoul was the oldest of the de Chagny siblings, and it was expected of him to provide several male heirs. Otherwise the entire estate would pass on to Benedict's oldest son, Arven.

Naturally my husband didn't want that to happen, which has led to nightly fucking. Prior to leaving for England, Raoul had even ordered the servants not to disturb us, save for meals or visits from any of his siblings.

I could still feel the pressure of his rough hands on my thighs, the bruises he made on my womanhood as he pumped in and out of me. I had thought that Raoul would be a gentle and loving husband – he did seem so attentive when he was courting me – but he had fooled me.

I waited for Genevieve and Carlotta to move on, and I finally made my way to the table that was laden with sweets. I picked a small treacle tart and bit into it, savouring the sweetness that flowed through my mouth. I quickly finished one and reached for another.

I was about to bite into it when I heard someone laughing softly behind me. I whirled around, still clutching the tart, and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man standing a few feet away. He was a shade taller than Raoul, but his hair was as black as the darkest night. He also had a powerful build; his torso seemed as sturdy as a tree trunk, and I felt he could crush a man's skull with his bare hands. He also gave off that certain aura of power. He was wearing a mask of Ares, the god of war. The rubies glittered as he moved, but somehow the mask seemed to suit his build.

_He must be a French aristocrat_, I thought.

"My lord," I said, curtsying slightly. I thought he would greet me in turn, but instead he just stood there, looking at me like I was a mildly interesting specimen.

"The king is taking too long," he said after a few minutes' silence, wherein he had watched me slowly – and very consciously – eat the tart. "I have a mind to leave."

"Then leave, my lord," I said, forgetting myself for a moment. The minute the words were out of my mouth, my eyes widened. "Forgive me, I-I didn't know what I was thinking."

"You were only saying what was on your mind," the man said.

I bit my lip, unsure of whether the man was mad or not. But then he smiled, and I felt my nervousness vanish.

"We may have started out on the wrong foot, my lord," I continued, hoping to salvage whatever rapport we had established. "I am-"

"No names, please," the man said, raising his hand. "I believe this is the very purpose of having a Masque, is it not? To conceal our true identities in a world that otherwise judges you for whatever face you present to them."

"Indeed. If that were so, how I wish my world would remain masked," I whispered. The man smirked and snatched a glass of wine from the table.

"It seems that despite all your fine jewels and gowns, you long to be free from such glittered chains," he commented.

I felt myself stiffen. He was probably one of Raoul's friends, whom he sent to keep an eye on me. My husband was always the jealous type, and he never trusted me to stay faithful to him. Had I the stomach to welcome another man into my body, I would have done so years ago.

"It is not the kind of chains I wish to be free of," I said, looking at the man straight in the eye. "But of society itself."

The man chuckled as she sipped his wine. "How original of you. Almost everyone here wishes the same, but naturally they have better sense than to conceal it, especially from people whom they've just met. Your mask, however, is different than the others. Who are you supposed to be on a night such as this?"

"Scheherazade," I replied.

"Is this your way of trying to attract the attention of the King?" the man asked. "She was a Persian Queen. But of course you already knew that."

"No, not at all. I admire her for being able to capture the heart of a powerful king simply through her stories. Her imagination is something that I wish for myself," I answered. A part of me wondered why I was even explaining myself to him. He was a stranger, and he certainly didn't deserve to know why I chose to be Scheherazade.

The man tilted his head slightly to the side, as if he didn't believe a word I said. Finally: "Perhaps you may never even meet the king."

"Perhaps not," I agreed. "And even if I did, I know he wouldn't spare a second glance at me. There are other ladies in this room more worthy of his attention than I."

"I suppose that's for the King to decide, not you," he answered.

"And how would you know what the King would think?"

The man simply smiled. "It was a pleasure conversing with you, Scheherazade. I pray that your imagination run wild and free, and that your stories will indeed capture the heart of a man worthy to call himself your husband."

"I have a husband."

That piqued his interest. "Oh? Who?"

"No names," I reminded him, and for a moment I thought I saw disappointment flash in his eyes. "Tonight we are not who we really are, but who we wish to be."

"Indeed." The man bowed and kissed my hand before leaving. The touch of his lips on my hand sent rivers of fire coursing through my body, and I wondered where such a sensation had come from. I certainly wasn't attracted to that uncouth gentleman, of that I was certain.

Once the man disappeared into the crowd, Carlotta swooped down on me and demanded to know who I had been talking to.

"He looked attractive, even from afar," she sighed dreamily. "Well? Who was he? Unlike you, there are some women who are still searching for a husband."

"He didn't tell me his name," I admitted. "Nor did I give him mine."

Carlotta pouted. "Shame. But the night is young. I will certainly have his name before the party ends."

And with a flurry of her silk skirts, Carlotta practically rushed after the man. I silently prayed that they never meet: the thought of Carlotta ending up with that man was too much to bear.

The party wore on and still the King hadn't arrived. Slowly the murmurs came swift, as the partygoers whispered amongst themselves.

Why hadn't the King arrived yet? Was he operating on a different schedule from the rest of France? Did he think we would wait for him no matter how long it took?

"He is most certainly a barbarian," Genevieve decided, downing what seemed to be her tenth glass of wine. Still, she walked steadily on her feet and had a rosy flush in her cheeks. "Does he not know that we do not exist to pander to his every whim? Is he unaware of the money we have all spent to throw him and his royal court a welcoming party?"

"He's King, Genevieve. Perhaps some other pressing matters came up," I suggested gently.

Genevieve glared at me and I flinched. I knew that if we weren't in public, such a statement would have earned me a harsh reprimand and a slap, at the very least. But Genevieve dared not jeopardize her reputation and scold me in the middle of a party.

"Perhaps," she agreed grudgingly.

"Excuse me."

Genevieve, Carlotta, and I – as well as some of my sister-in-law's friends – turned towards the owner of the voice. It was the man I had been talking to earlier.

"Yes?" Carlotta said giddily.

"I was hoping to ask Scheherazade for a dance," he replied, staring straight at me.

"Oh, my name's not Scheherazade." Carlotta practically threw herself at the man as she walked coyly towards him. "I'm Carlotta. Carlotta Guidecelli."

"I apologize, but I wasn't talking to _you_," the man said, all sense of formality gone. Carlotta seemed to sense the man's cold attitude towards her and she faltered. "I was talking to her."

And walked over and took my hand in his.

Genevieve spluttered, but the man ignored her and led me onto the dance floor. I tried not to pay any attention to the looks and stares we were getting as we joined the sea of dancing couples. I also tried not to notice the fact that the man's presence was overpowering – but not in the way Raoul was.

This man's presence was different; it spoke of comfort and safety. For some reason as we swept past the others, I felt as if I had finally found someplace safe.

_In another man's arms_, my mind said, and I felt my muscles tense.

_You shouldn't be doing this_, I told myself silently. _You have a husband. A husband who is away at war and may die anytime soon_.

_Well I hope he does_, another part of me said savagely. _I hope he dies a horrible death, and that I may be free, free from this accursed family and existence_.

The strains of the orchestra continued, and I was swept into another world, another time, one where there was no Raoul, no Genevieve, and no de Chagnys who would dictate my life.

I was in a world where only I and my mysterious prince existed, and for once, I felt safe, wanted, _needed_.

And I never wanted it to end.


End file.
